She breathed the aroma before she saw it coming. An earthy fragrance, nuanced with

something, perhaps a blend of the freshly served cuisine from the table beside her. No matter, she would not allow her senses to be tainted by conflicting aromas. Not this time.

"Magrets de canard," the waiter intoned at her elbow and the plate was laid before

her. And there it sat, exquisite and steaming, with a congregation of potatoes and

peaches, parsley and cloves, a single serving of moderately portioned nirvana. It was all a bit put on, a bit of a pile, but attractive like a respectable orgy of smooth-skinned waifs. She smiled at this. The waiter seemed to take this as a compliment, bowed, and asked her if she required anything else.

Her Bordeaux, like Jim Tourner, had left her. She gripped the glass by the bowl and made a tick-tocking motion to the waiter who skipped off to the cellar for a fresh bottle.What was his name again? Gaspar? Never mind. She licked her lips, her tongue was swimming in a pool of saliva but she had to wait for the Bordeaux.

Her manicured nails drummed upon the table like hydrogen bombs. Click click. She surveyed the others tearing bits of animal flesh with flared nostrils, slurping sauce with obscenely pursed lips. She gauged she would euphemistically call the man at the table to her right a gentleman, the one with the porous, pockmarked face. She turned to her left, a woman with an unfortunately inconsistent skin tone. She returned to her plate, a proper perfection devoid of embarrassing inconsistencies.

The waiter was then standing behind her. He was sweating, collecting his breath, panting like a salty dog. He mopped his sweaty brow with a soiled sleeve.

"Alright, darling?" she asked politely though she hardly cared.

He nodded and proceeded to decork the vintage in hamfisted fashion.

She awaited patiently. She was furious, waiting all this time for a goddamn glass of wine. Her lips compressed and she tasted lipstick. Just great, galette de pomme de terre with a side of rouge a levres. Perfect. She snatched up her napkin with frustration and removed the lipstick completely. She tossed the cloth to the table were it fell beside her empty glass stained with rouge.

Her eyes pierced the waiter as he struggled to remove the cork. His damn mustache, pathetic rumpled collar, partly tucked shirt, dingy dress shoes. She couldn't stand him. What was he doing working here? Who could have hired him? She looked about for a more senior waiter. Seeing none, she sat back and battered the table with her nails. Click click.

Ah, at last, the cork was free. He spilled a bit as he poured it but it didn't matter. She allowed him to finish the pour, set the bottle at the center of the table, and leave without a word. She took her time in smoothly applying napkin to left hip. She swirled the crimson contents of the glass and savoured the aroma. The scent from the duck was still there as well like an expectant lover with doe eyes. She lifted the fork. It gleamed in artificial light, it cast angelic slices across the reddened and sweaty faces of her fellow diners who were all oblivious to it.

She managed a bit of everything into a respectable morsel and regarded it, balanced as it was by thrice pronged steel. It hovered, immaculate. Her hand shook not at all, as deft and still as judgment. A slight bit of duck fat slid through the slits to the plate below. It didn't matter, she would collect it later, perhaps with a bit of peach for that perfect juxtaposition of fauna and fruitflesh. She smiled, closed the gap between anticipation and satisfaction, tasted the menagerie, allowed her tongue to be ravished, the bite to flow into her mouth, the fork retreated, the flavours siphoned.

For a brief moment she stopped, felt her throat tighten, her eyes water. Through bleary tears she gazed at the remainder of the plate just begging to be taken advantage of. She tried to breathe, she rose, hovered. She saw the waiter running towards her with stained waistcoat and that absurd mustache. Oh god, she felt herself sweating. She raised a hand to her mouth and began to choke.

She sat with her eyes tired and weary, her cheek bones hollowed and her skin grey.

Her lips were dry and chapped in need of moisture, you could tell she´d not eaten anything in days.

Her hair was black, thick and greasy, lank and dusty, her clothing ripped, dirty and torn.

She bent over the table clutching the spoon in her bony knuckled hand, looking towards the kitchen, her nose twitching like a rabbits smelling the aroma that drifted out of it. A fat lady walked over to her with a large white and blue striped china bowl and placed it in front of the girl. Straight away her eyes widened as she saw a simple bowl of chicken stew, it was as though she´d seen an angel. Her spoon was plunged in and lifted out again with a lump of carrot and chicken, straight into her mouth it went, she huffed as it burnt her tongue but smiled as she dove back in for more. This time came potatoes and peas, each spoonful a treasure trove of taste and salvation.  The fat lady then brought her a plate with bread on it, simple white sliced bread but to the girl it was like pages from a holy book, she picked a slice up and ran her fingertips over it, as if blind reading braille,

then folded it and dipped it into her stew. She was in her own little heaven, one which most of us take for granted every day.

Her other hand was bloodied and wrapped in a make shift bandage, one of her fingers completely missing, it had been lost in the bomb blast that had killed her whole family. She´d laid hidden for days under an old table too afraid to venture out because she´d heard the soldiers passing, laughing and cussing, calling out “Muslim pigs come out come out where ever you are”.

She was Muslim as was her friends and family but not a pig among them, she never understood why they were hated so much. For several hot days and cold nights she remained hidden away until she heard nothing but a dog sniffing around. With the dog came people who called out “Can anyone hear us, we are here to help?”

She dragged herself out from under the broken table looking up to the sky, up to her God, she´d been saved.

Now she was being fed and later she would bathe and be given new clothing…she was once more a person who mattered. As she ate her eyes began to flood once more with tears, she was all alone now.  Who would brush her hair at night, sing her songs, who would protect her?  With whom would she play hide and go seek?  A child of war of greed, of misunderstanding, of suffering...her and many more.

----------------------------------------------

© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.

Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent

and any written material is owned solely by the above named.

Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.

Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.

I placed my feet upon the gelid wooden floors; slightly flinching before placing them back and standing to my feet. The air greeted my unarmed skin with prickled kisses. I pick up my shirt and slip into it before head downstairs. There you are.

"Morning." I whisper. 

"Morning, I made you breakfast." You say before I could get into the kitchen.

I pull out one of the wooden chairs and sit next to you. You slide the plate across the table, causing a soft sound to fill the air. I smile down at the food. 

"Did you already eat?" I ask as I pick up the fork.

"I'm not very much hungry." I frown at you; an over dramatized frown that causes you to laugh a bit. "What?" You say through the laughter.

"I don't want to eat if you're not eating."

You lightly roll your eyes at me as you get up and walk to the kitchen. I watched as you come back with a fork of your own. "Aren't you sweet." You joke. 

I smile as we both begin to eat. The food is warm and the waffles are perfect. You always knew how to make them the perfect way I liked them. You pick at the eggs; not liking cinnamon in your waffles as I do. 

"Thank you." I say softly. 

"It's my job to keep you happy." You say. "You didn't seem okay last night and I just wanted to see if I could changed that today."

I should have known you would have noticed. You were always knew how to read my emotions even when my mother couldn't. I sighed softly. "Wasn't the best o days." I say as I finish up the waffle. 

"What happened?" You ask. Your eyes moving up to meet mine.

"I kinda don't wanna talk about it." 

You frown and then nod. "I guess that's okay." You say more to yourself than to me. 

I sigh as the guilt begins to pierce my heart. I want to tell you, I really do, but I don't wanna lose you. You mean the world to me and I'd hate myself forever if you were to ever leave me. I can't help myself and make myself a suspect. "You know I love you," I pause. "Right?"

You looked at me with loving and confused eyes. "Yes, I know." You say. 

I bite down on my lower lip and then look down at the table. I get lost in my thoughts. I am unsure if I should tell you the truth or allow it to consume me. 

"Hey," I look at you. "What's wrong?"

"I cheated on you yesterday." There it was. A bombshell I could never take back. "I was really depressed because of everything." You stare at me now with cold eyes. I could tell you felt betrayal and it brakes my heart. "You know how I get, I just stared crying and I just wanted to numb the pain and not suffer through it and so I did that the best and only way I knew how." You are silent and I can't read your face. You stay with those emotionless eyes and stare at me. "I went to my old drug dealer and they said they were going to give them to me for free because they miss me."

After what seems like an eternity of silence you speak. "You mean the drug dealer that wants to have sex with you?"

I fell silent for a moment. "I had no where else to go."

"You could've come home!" I can read you now. Anger. "You could've cried to me! Yelled at me! Vented to me!"You stand up and start speaking with your arms waving in the air. "You know I'm here for you, you never have to go to some drug dealer that gives you free drugs to get into your pants and fall for it!"

I fall silent now. My eyes tear up. It always made me feel weak to cry, but I cried so easily. You were upset and now it felt as if you were calling me things you didn't mean to call me. I'm not sure. I look down at the table as I talk now. "I love you, and I understand that you're upset, but-"

"What the hell is love to you?" You spit the words at me. My heart sinks. "Love is trust and a strong foundation. I loved that you were willing to give up all that bull with drugs and alcohol for me. I love that you have such a  sweet smile and that you trust me. I love that your personality is the opposite of mine. I love you, and I would never do anything to make you feel as if I don't." You nod your head and lightly wipe my tears away the way you always do when you were trying to make me happy. "Don't worry." You whisper. "I'll get out of your hair and leave you to be with whoever the hell you want. Because I will not allow you to break my heart like this ever again." 

"No!" I yelled as you pick up your coat and head towards the door. "I don't want to be without you!" I yell after you.

"I don't wanna be without you either." You say as you open the front door. "But you've left me no other option."

"If you leave I'll die!" 

"You'll be fine." You say. 

Your words; they sting and I become deeply desperate. "If you leave I'll kill myself."

You pause in your tracks and look at me from your car. "Don't play like that." You say.

"I'll cut your name into my body a thousand times until I  bleed out or can't handle the pain and just hang myself."

You burst into tears and slowly make your way back into the house. You know my history. You know me. You know I don't make empty threats.